


Through A New Lens: A Spectacular Love Story

by christinefromsherwood



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Fanart, First Time, Fluff and Humor, Getting Together, M/M, POV Q (James Bond), Post-SPECTRE, Post-Spectre fix-it, Q's got it bad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-03
Updated: 2020-09-09
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:47:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26255149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/christinefromsherwood/pseuds/christinefromsherwood
Summary: Bond’s settled into his life back at MI6 and Q is fine. In fact, he’s better than fine. He’s perfect. Then he sees Bond wearing reading glasses. Oh shit…Now with awesome art byNana!
Relationships: James Bond/Q
Comments: 84
Kudos: 329
Collections: Mi6 Cafe Prompt Fills





	1. The Kink Awakens

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nana_41175](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nana_41175/gifts).



> This is a "get well soon" fic for Nana, who's just the loveliest person and deserves all the fics and hugs. I hope you enjoy this, Nana dear. ♥ 
> 
> (Hey guys, you should go and read Nana's fics and leave her comments. Yeah! She's the author of [His Keeper](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18595720)! But there's also [Bedtime Stories](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25552357), or [A Brief Acquaintance](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25129741), my personal favourites.) 
> 
> \- inspired by the #21 Fluff prompt on the MI6 Cafe anon exchange sheet
> 
> Thank you so much to soufflegirl91 for betaing this fic. Being able to share my fics with you first thing and getting to hear what you think is just the best. 🤗💖

Now, Q didn’t consider himself a kinky person. Not that there was anything wrong with that!

As far as he was concerned, if whips and chains were something that excited you (as Rihanna sang), or if it was your partner’s feet that got your engines going, or if you liked to be called Mercedes in bed, slathered in golden syrup and set upon by bees, Q was not going to judge you--well, he was going to _try his hardest_ not to at least, the thing with bees was a bit odd, Tom.

The point was, even if he found himself occasionally weirded out by things he heard people enjoyed in bed, he wasn’t the sort to go rushing for holy water, yelling: “Demon! Demon!” He’d even tried some kinks out when his partners suggested them. But the truth was his life up until that fateful September 3rd had been almost astonishingly kink-free. 

Well, the afternoon of September 3rd, to be exact. 

In the morning, for example, Q sorted out performance reviews for HR all without having to adjust his trousers or wriggle inconspicuously on his ergonomic gamer’s chair. No kink for the Quartermaster! No, sir. 

But then he went out for lunch, and when he came back, he found Bond on the sofa with his work tablet and _bloody reading glasses_.

And suddenly he understood the look in Tom’s eyes when he’d talked about his bee fantasies; one part embarrassed, two parts horny, because: _fuuuuuuUUUUuuck_. 

He cleared his throat without thinking, and then immediately cursed himself because _it made Bond look up_!

And if Q thought that James Bond looked really fucking hot when he was focusing his bespecled gaze on his work, it was nothing to when he directed his blue eyes at Q, looking over the fucking top of his thick, hipster rims.

“007,” Q greeted in what he hoped was his regular voice before the silence stretched too long. He refused to get hard because of a single look. He simply refused!

“Q.” Bond smiled pleasantly and Q breathed a sigh of relief. Only then he tilted his head and started to look Q up and down and- The desk! 

Q had a large desk. Much larger than he needed, too many drawers that went unused. But in that moment Q loved and praised his desk like never before for its excessive size, as he hurried to hide behind it. 

“Bad lunch?” 

Q looked up from his retina scanner to find Bond grimacing sympathetically. 

“Wh- Oh yes, terrible, absolutely awful,” he babbled, looking away, before realising he never did that, and making himself meet Bond’s eyes behind those fucking glasses. “Terribly, awfully hot. Spicy, I mean.” 

“Oh,” was all Bond said to that, but Q saw him narrow his eyes slightly and bloody hell, he needed to get a hold of himself. He was a fucking professional! “I thought you liked spicy food.”

“How did you know that?” 

Bond shrugged. “I saw Bill cry that one time he accidentally took your vindaloo from the fridge.”

“Oh.” And just like that, the boner was gone.

Q remembered that day well, and not just because he’d laughed himself sick when Bond suggested bags of sand in the middle of Bill moaning about being on fire and wanting water, water, _water, goddammit_! It was the same day Bond stole 009’s car.

It wasn’t very difficult to temp down desire for a man, who stirred up a truly astonishing cocktail of shit with the whole Nine Eyes affair and Blofeld and then left his colleagues high and dry to sort out the mess while _he_ spent his days lounging on a cabana, and fucking his favourite conquest of the week for the better part of a year. 

Q cleared his throat again. Bond seemed to have sensed the change in the room since he leaned back on the sofa, and took off his glasses.

“Well, what can I help you with, 007?” 

“I was looking over the specs for the new grenade launchers and Juliet asked me to discuss my notes with you directly.”

As they launched into a discussion of pros and cons of the updated sight mount, Q breathed a quiet sigh of relief, secure in the knowledge that that thing before had been a momentary fit of insanity. Nothing more. 

Possibly there _had_ been something off in the lunch they gave him at The Cinnamon Club. Bond was his fairly attractive, unreliable colleague, on whom Q _didn’t_ have a crush. Glasses, or no glasses. 

There was no kink to see here; move along now.

* * *

Q’s quiet, kink-free (and woefully sex-less) existence continued for several months and numerous encounters with James Bond. Q wasn’t fond of lying to himself, so he acknowledged that after the fluke with the reading glasses, he did seem to be noticing Bond more often. 

Or maybe it was that Bond was around more often, Q wasn’t certain. 

Nevertheless, it did seem as though suddenly Bond was everywhere Q looked. He was always stopping by Q branch, staying for a while to discuss a mission prototype. Sometimes on his way to or from the gym he would come to ask after any tests that needed running. Once he showed up in the middle of a tense mission situation and took orders for a coffee run.

Q knew what he was doing (he doubted there was anyone in Q Branch who didn’t), and while for the most part it was the case of “too little, too late”, Q found himself appreciating the effort as well as the fact that while Bond was obviously trying to make amends, he wasn’t making things awkward by bending over backwards. For example, he didn’t suddenly pretend to laugh at Q’s bad jokes. He just shook his head and groaned, or offered his own, even more terrible pun like before. 

Q could see them being friends again, was the point. And that made him happy. 

And nothing like the September 3rd incident reoccurred, and that made him overconfident. 

Thus, he was utterly unprepared when December 6th rolled around. 

* * *

Q had entered the local Tesco with the purest of intentions. He would like that to be known. He’d just needed to pick up some cat food and veggies, maybe grab one or two mince pies, while he was there. 

And then he was turning into the frozen foods aisle and there stood Bond, basket in one hand, shopping list in the other, in a soft, grey cardigan… Oh! And _the fucking reading glasses were back_!

“Eeeeep,” said Q in alarm. Bond, of course, looked up and over his glasses, and Q was not prepared for that! 

For Christ’s sake, he had nothing but his basket and a single tote bag to shield and defend himself!

“Oh, hello!” Bond gave him a warm, surprised smile. Q’s face attempted to return it with a strange spasm. 

“Hi,” Q said, and then because he had to say _something_ : “I’m here for cat food.” 

Grinning and shuffling closer, Bond peered into his basket: “So what are Graham and Cracker having for dinner today?”

He leaned closer. Q didn’t moan but it was a close thing, because as Bond leaned over him, Q got hit full-on with the most wonderful scent. 

_Bond._

_Sweet dark chocolate and_

“Blackberries.”

“Blackberries?” Bond moved a step back, taking off his glasses by removing one leg and letting them dangle by the other. ( _That_ had no right to look attractive!) 

Q gulped, nodding frantically. 

“Blackberries with duck. They like it and it’s good for the gut,” he lied. A little bit. 

The cat food did exist! Just not in his shopping basket. He had eyed the cans for a bit, weighing whether the boys deserved a treat when they’d decided to fight over a toy mouse at 3 in the morning the night before, and...

That didn’t matter anymore. That’s what they were having _now_.

“Huh.” Bond made the same incredulously approving sound he usually reserved for when Q managed to make an already small, useful gadget even smaller and more useful. “ _I_ wouldn’t mind having that for dinner.” 

He was smiling, really smiling. His _eyes_ were crinkling at the corners behind the thick-rimmed, hipster glasses. 

Q took a carefully controlled, deep breath. 

This was Tesco, early in the afternoon. 

He was a grown man with self-control and he _would_ force the blood back _into his brain_!

“Well, Cracker might offer to share if you asked nicely,” he quipped, meeting Bond’s eyes with a better approximation of a smile, before focusing his attention firmly on counting the stitches in his collar.

“And Graham?” Bond’s voice came soft and rumbly with humour. It didn’t help. Q just had to cheerfully power through: 

“Oh, he would definitely claw your face off.” 

Bond burst out laughing. Right there in the middle of Tesco, in a frozen foods aisle, with ice lollies to his left and packets of five spice above his right ear. Full belly laughs. His glasses, which he had stupidly let dangle off one ear, were swinging so violently Q feared for the lenses. 

“It’s a good thing, then, that I’m not actually tempted,” he said finally, still chuckling. “Cat food tastes terrible, no matter how good it looks on the can.”

“Personal experience?”

Bond nodded. “One time, I escaped from Medical, still high from their drugs and really hungry for something that wasn’t _that slop_.” He grimaced. “Food shop seemed like a good idea and that “goulash” looked really bloody tasty on the plate.”

Q smothered a giggle with the back of his hand. 

“It wasn’t,” Bond finished dramatically. “It really, really wasn’t.”

“Oh god!” Q groaned amid helpless laughter. “Was that before my time?”

“No!” Bond shook his head, sparks dancing in his eyes. “That was this August!” 

Q cackled. “What? Did you forget your glasses?” 

Immediately, he cursed himself for mentioning them, for drawing attention to them, to the fact that he had noticed them! But it was too late now. No going back. 

He had acknowledged the glasses, and maybe that was a good thing. 

It would have been weird to pretend that they weren’t there, that he couldn’t see them. He could just move on now, right? 

Right?!

Only _now_ Bond was reminded of the glasses, too. Which was a great thing for the lenses, because he reached up and slid them back on securely. 

But a terrible thing for Q as it also meant that he put them back _on_! 

And he was smiling!

And it simply wasn’t fair how the colour of the frames made the blue of his eyes even bluer!

“That was before I got them actually,” Bond was saying and Q had no idea what he was talking about. 

“Well.” He grinned awkwardly. Oh! The _glasses_! For Christ’s sake. “Well, don’t let me keep you from enjoying being able to read your shopping list.”

Bond smiled. “Go feed your gourmet cats, Q.” 

Q waited until Bond disappeared in the baked goods section before doubling back to grab the fancy cat food. The boys would feast tonight. Q didn’t want to feel guilty for lying about them because of his weird thing for Bond’s glasses. 

Q saw Bond again at the check-out, exchanged a friendly nod with him, and then they went their separate ways. 

* * *

All in all, Q had come out of the second confrontation with this unexpected kink fairly well. At least, that’s what he explained to Graham and Cracker as he was scooping the undeserved treat into their bowls. 

In fact, he was well on his way to being quite over whatever strange attraction he had developed towards Bond’s reading glasses. He’d managed to get a grip on himself and have a friendly conversation with the man, after all! 

It had been just a fluke. Or well, the _repeat_ of the strange fluke from back in September. 

BUT!

Lightning _did,_ after all, strike twice in the same place. That was just science. 

The point was…

The point _was_ that he would be fine. 

But then, Cracker’s defensive hiss at Graham’s thieving attempt broke Q out of his reverie before he had managed to fully convince himself of the fact. 

Perhaps that was why he was quietly amazed at himself the next day when he kitted Bond out for a mission _without_ having to have a conversation while stifling a boner. 

He simply summarized the contents of the compact case, ostensibly masquerading as a shaving kit, informed Bond of any tweaks Q branch had carried out based on his observations, and then, when Bond asked, he managed to recount the tale of Graham and Cracker’s great battle over the Deluxe Blackberry Duck, in which his potted ficus photosynthesised its last. All without taking any special note of Bond’s eyes, or the wrinkle in the collar of his shirt, or even the way his mouth curled up at the corners as he listened to the cats’ antics. 

Bond’s mission also went off without a hitch. 

There were a few hard copies of previously only rumoured video recordings pertaining to the activities of the president and a few of his cronies that their contact had wanted taken off his hands in exchange for a second chance at getting his daughter into Cambridge. It had been a simple, quiet sneak around the Kremlin.

And Q hadn’t shivered in his chair when he heard Bond speak first Russian, and then French over the comms. He’d quietly reminded Bond to opt for vodka when Anton and Dima offered him wine instead. (The sobriety capsule prevented the alcohol absorption through stomach lining _only_ and Bond, posing as a wine-loving, French businessman would have been obliged to swirl the Cabernet around his mouth to truly appreciate the taste.)

And when Bond had secured the tapes and collected his keycard from the front desk of the Grand Alexandre, Q had simply double-checked Bond’s flight details, signed off and gone home to his cats, without having to worry about an inappropriate attraction to someone who both was and _wasn’t_ under his command.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, the fic is already written, have no fear, peoples. Second chapter will appear on Sunday and the third and final chapter shall be posted on Wednesday.
> 
> Warning: There be porn in the last chapter. 👀
> 
> (I hope you'll have fun waiting for the next chapter 🤗 Let me know how you enjoyed this one?)


	2. The Quartermaster Fights Back

Bond returned a few days later, quietly resuming his routine at MI6, and while Q still held out some hope that that would be the end of the matter, he knew it would be the height of foolishness to think that he could never be affected by the reading glasses again. Instead, he made an effort to always know where they were when he was in Bond’s presence.

After all, if he could locate them at any moment, he couldn’t be surprised or thrown off-balance by their sudden appearance. 

Quickly scanning Bond’s body for the glasses or their case had even become a game of sorts, with Q privately awarding himself points depending on how fast he found them. He fancied that he managed to always glance over Bond’s body for the glasses surreptitiously enough not to be noticed--it wouldn’t do to make Bond think he was checking him out. But there was that one time Bond had given him a strange look when Q couldn’t quite suppress a giggle because _Is that an eyeglass case in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?_ intruded into his mind while Bond was recounting his and the other agents’ range scores with the new bullets. 

Nevertheless, Q congratulated himself on his method’s success when he next ran into Bond and his reading glasses outside of work again. 

He’d decided to take a long lunch break to grab a bite and do some Christmas shopping afterwards. 

The restaurant was packed when he walked in, and as Q looked around for a table, or even a free spot at one, BAM! 

There was Bond, in his reading glasses, tapping his chin with his index finger as he perused the menu, looking very ordinary among all the other patrons. 

There seemed to be no other space available and, even if there were, it would have been extremely awkward to sit anywhere else when Q _knew_ Bond was there. So Q casually walked up to Bond’s table and slid into the seat opposite, trying not to beam too victoriously when Bond jerked his head upwards, obviously surprised. It wasn’t every day one managed to sneak up on a double-oh, after all. 

“No blackberries and duck on offer?” Q asked with a grin, nodding towards the menu, while Bond blinked at him from behind his glasses.

“Nothing quite as fine as the fare you serve your cats, I’m afraid,” Bond replied, letting a slow smile spread across his face. Q supposed it was luck that the woman at the next table let out a horrendous witch’s cackle and it was highly improbable the waiter who’d been passing their table heard the remark.

“I’ll have to make do with fish and chips,” Bond continued and Q’s stomach growled.

“Oh, that sounds heavenly!” he sighed and leaned back in his chair to stretch his back. He’d been too busy with a design the whole morning and hadn’t even remembered to nibble on a biscuit as he usually did at his desk.

When he looked up, he found Bond giving him a strange look.

“What?” he asked, straightening his sweater. “Are you one of the crackpots who get offended when others copy their order?”

“Maybe I wanted you to order something else, so I could steal a bite or two later.” Bond grinned as Q narrowed his eyes at him.

“You didn’t,” he scoffed, shaking his head decisively and folding his arms. “You wouldn’t do that. Not in a restaurant.”

But suddenly, Q could imagine Bond sneaking a fork across a table in a more _intimate_ setting, stealing a bit of whipped cream from the top of a cake. There and gone in a flash, with only a small streak of white above the cheeky curve of his upper lip as evidence of his crime. 

A bit of cream, begging to be cleaned up, and not with a napkin. Q could reach across the table, tilt his head up and-

“Are you ready to order, sir?” 

BLOODY BUGGERING BOLLOCKS!

Q must have jumped about a meter high when the waiter approached. But it was a good thing that the man came, because _what was that_?! 

Had he really just slid into a waking wet dream about _James Bond stealing his chocolate cake_? 

And Bond hadn’t even been wearing the glasses in the fantasy! It had been just _him_ , and his _eyes_ and his _mouth_ and that _whipped cream_ and Q really didn’t have time to suddenly develop _another_ kink about the man!

“Two plates of fish and chips, please,” Bond, who wasn’t on the brink of a breakdown, ordered. With all his might, Q dragged himself back from the edge. 

So he found Bond somewhat attractive even without the stupid glasses. So what? Sometimes people you worked with were attractive! Q had fancied both Moneypenny and Bill at one time, and that had passed as he got to know them better and they became friends.

This was nothing to fuss about. Now he knew, and he just had to accept it and move on. It wasn’t like he was _pining_ after Bond, hopelessly “sat like patience on a monument, smiling at grief”, yearning for the touch of his hand, or some such nonsense.

Bond was a bit hot and Q had a thing for him. So there! 

Q then spent the rest of the lunch, chatting amicably about his shopping plans, defiantly _daring_ his brain to conjure up more inappropriate images, seeing if he could make himself lust after Bond’s earlobes or the indents his wristwatch had left in the skin of his forearm. 

He couldn’t. Ha!

Q left the restaurant high on his victory, ready to tackle any boutique in search of a shawl for Moneypenny. Bond had given him an excellent tip on what to look for in materials to make sure he was getting his money’s worth, and armed with this knowledge, Q was determined to feel all of the fabrics and get the best.

* * *

The next day greeted Q with the shrill ringtone of his work mobile at 4 in the morning. 003 had come very near to having her cover blown in the middle of an undercover mission with Boko Haram and it was all hands on deck. They needed to assess the damage.

When Q got into mission control, he found it crammed full of analysts from Assessment, arguing over their calculations, as well as his cyber team, already working to extract as much information as possible. 

And Bond was there, too. With a headset, on a secure line with 003. 

Q gave him a grateful smile. Keeping the agent on the line, calm and appraised of the situation would have been his job, but with Bond taking over, he could focus more fully on research and coordinating his team.

From what Q could tell in the moments when he looked up from his own work, Bond seemed to be sharing the more amusing details of missions gone wrong. Q couldn’t be sure but he thought he saw him say the words “a goat” and “proposal” at one time. 

In the end, Q was the one responsible for informing Maryamu of the results of all their hacking and analysing; they were pulling her back. He came on the line just as Bond was signing off, and heard her say: “Thank you, James.”

After it was over, it seemed like the most natural thing in the world to invite James for a cup of tea in his office to let them both recover from the frenzied morning. 

Q had no idea how he suddenly found himself telling James about the face the shop assistant pulled the day before when he told her he was looking for 100% cashmere and not whatever polyester blend she was trying to foist on him. 

“...and then I rubbed the fabric and said: ‘What do you mean it’s the purest of materials made from the longest, hand-picked goat hair? This thing is making more electricity than if you rubbed wool with an ebonite rod! You should be _charging negative_ for this!’” Q had to put his cup down so he wouldn’t spill his tea. He was laughing so hard just remembering _the look_ on the woman’s face. 

James watched him over the top of his mug with a bemused smile. Q shook his head at him.

“Because when you rub wool on ebonite, you charge it? Negatively? And that shawl was just way too expensive and fake?” he explained his joke and watched delightedly, as James closed his eyes when the full beauty of the pun finally got across. 

“Q, no,” he groaned in despair that had to be at least partially an act. “Just no.” 

Q burst out laughing again. “Don’t worry, she didn’t get it either. I think she thought I was making some sort of a lewd suggestion.”

“I’m not surprised.” James huffed out a laugh. “I wonder that she didn’t call security on you, chasing away her customers with your obscure science puns.” 

“Oh, you should have seen her face, James!” Q crowed again, taking up his cup. “It was priceless.” 

When he looked up, he found James shaking his head at him, smiling softly. 

It hit Q like a punch in the gut. 

James either hadn’t bothered to shave that day, or simply hadn’t found the time and his short stubble rasped against his palm when he went to rub his smile away, but Q still recognised the light in his eyes. He couldn’t look away. 

He’d been aware, before, on some level, that James had beautiful eyes, of course he had been, but they were…

They really were _beautiful_.

Q let out a slow, controlled breath. This was not the time, nor place to start waxing poetic on the subject of James Bond’s eyes, and the way he could just look at a person and- 

“So, after you finished terrorising that woman, did you find what you were looking for?” James asked. Q gave a decisive nod, hoping to dislodge the strange feeling of an inevitable car crash that had settled there.

“I did. Right next door,” he said, tapping his desk. “I don’t want to risk the boys getting into it, so I’m keeping it here.”

“Let’s see it, then.” Putting his cup down, James waved his hand challengingly. 

“What? You think I picked something rubbish?!” 

“I think I want to see you put your money where your mouth is.”

 _I could show you where I can put my mouth_.

Batting the nonsensical thought away, Q glowered at James. “It’s exquisite and Eve will love it!”

“Uh-huh.” He was _smirking!_

That was just about the limit! Springing to his feet, Q yanked open one of his many desk drawers. He gentled his movements as he pushed the wrapping paper to the side, uncovering the soft, burgundy fabric.

“Oh,” James breathed out. He’d put on his glasses and was bending over the wrap, gently stroking the soft, tightly knit strands. “This is lovely.”

As he looked up, the light from the monitors reflected the deep red into his eyes, making them appear an even darker shade of blue, almost violet. Like two deep pools of lava from the Kawah Ijen volcano. 

“Bloody gorgeous.” Q was one step away from growling. So much for not waxing poetic.

“Q, I will never doubt your cashmere-picking skills, or call you a cocky little shit again,” James announced solemnly.

Q raised an eyebrow. “You never called me that.”

“Oh, I didn’t?” He was grinning again. The gorgeous prick. “Some might call that a missed opportunity.”

Q resisted returning James’s smile. He resisted throwing Boothroyd’s old paperweight at him. He also resisted reaching across the table and smashing their faces together in order to punch James in the mouth with his mouth. He probably wouldn’t even care if one of their lenses cracked. 

That was a lot of resisting to be happening all at once. 

“Well, that’s it,” he decided. “You can just bugger off now and bother someone else. I’m busy.”

Sadly, the effect of his words was ruined when his face broke into a smile before he could finish speaking. But James got up, still chuckling to himself, and mercifully didn’t comment on the fact that it had been Q who had pulled him into his office. 

“I’ll see you for lunch then?” he asked from the doorway

“Hmmm,” Q hummed his approval before registering the question. But the door had already closed behind James Bond, leaving Q to stare through the opaque glass as his silhouette rippled and swayed, moving further and further away. 

Q swallowed drily. 

He put his face in his hands. 

It appeared he was going out for lunch with James. Again. 

So, he needed to pull himself together. 

Things were good. Things were _finally_ good now. That awkwardness from the early months after his return had all but dissipated and Q _liked_ spending time with James again.

Except for the few hiccups when Q got lost in his eyes, the morning had been bloody brilliant. Q _wanted_ that. 

So he couldn’t afford to mess it up by acting like the hormonal teenager he most decidedly wasn’t. There was also the issue of literally having James’s life in his hands when he ran his missions that Q had no idea what to do about. 

Whatever this weird thing he felt was--and Q was self-aware enough to admit that he felt _something_ , that the thing with the glasses had probably just been a catalyst of sorts--he’d have to keep it to himself and wait until it quietly went away. 

After all, physical attraction accompanied with what might be a smidge of affection was not such a difficult thing to control, especially if one did their best to discourage it at all times. 

Which was exactly what Q did during that lunch date. 

He ordered fish and chips again, kept up a _friendly_ stream of chatter about the cats and his experiment with taping his ficus back together. Later, with a _friendly_ roll of his eyes, he allowed James to steal a few of his chips when he complained that he couldn’t possibly eat the tuna steak because it was terribly dry and under-seasoned, and that his grilled vegetables were disgustingly mushy and there wasn’t enough time to send the meal back. 

Q was proud of himself when the day ended and he went home to regale his cats with the account of his day. 

He was well on his way to being over the entire affair.

* * *

The upcoming two weeks saw a few setbacks, but even more triumphs for Q. 

They didn’t go out for lunch every day--that would be ridiculous; sometimes they shared a takeout in Q’s office--but the few times they did go, Q found himself utterly unmoved when James pulled out his glasses, or when he noticed soy sauce drop from a spring roll and run down his chin. 

Granted, there were a few times when he met James’s eyes and had to swallow against a sudden rush of desperate something that screamed he _wanted to be closer_ , but putting on a cheery smile and talking about how the boys knocked over the ficus again, murdering it once and for all, or the 3D puzzle he had commissioned for Bill’s Christmas present chased it away. 

Q wasn’t sure if spending a long time wondering whether to get James something for Christmas counted as a triumph or a setback in his tally. 

After all, friends (even colleagues!) gave each other gifts at Christmas, and _some_ planning was required and absolutely normal. Q just wasn’t sure if it was something he should do.

They were _friends_ \--the whole Blofeld circus was well and truly forgiven--but it was still different from the friendship Q had with Bill or Moneypenny. With them Q knew exactly where he stood, what kind of a present they would love to receive, but thinking about James Bond and Christmas was like trying to combine two immiscible liquids. 

Moreover, Q had no idea if James celebrated Christmas! 

But even if he did, there was no way of knowing if he would _want to_ receive a present from Q. That was the source of Q’s dilemma. 

He knew very well what he would want to give James if he could be sure it would be appreciated. 

Well, to be honest, Q was torn between _two_ choices: a weighted blanket and a cat. 

He had tried his best to stop himself from hyperfocusing on any aspect of James’s appearance, but Q couldn’t help but notice that he hadn’t been sleeping well. And at times when Q talked about Christmas or the cats, he thought James had looked a bit... lonely. 

Now, Q was aware that wanting to wrap someone in your arms and hold them and not let go for as long as possible was not a _purely_ friendly impulse. (Neither was wanting to press that selfsame someone up against a wall and shag his brains out.) That’s why he didn’t give the initial thought more than half a minute of consideration, before moving onto the weighted blanket, or alternatively a cat. 

Q had noticed James tended to wear layers and thick sweaters whenever he could get away with not putting on a suit. It wasn’t such a big leap to assume that he liked to be comfortable, and there was nothing more comforting than a weighted blanket, and nothing better for companionship than a purring cat; Q should know.

He just had to decide whether he could somehow give either of those things to James without making things awkward between them. 

Now, he didn’t obsess about it--though he had a suspicion his cats might disagree--but he did wonder whether an opportunity might not present itself.

And then it did.

“For the last time, Q, when I say Brussels sprouts are bloody delicious and you’re missing out, I’m not talking about what you call ‘steamed fartballs’ that most of Britain serves for a side dish!” James threw his hands up as he talked. 

Q shrugged his shoulders, making sure to stop any glee from appearing on his face. He leaned back on his chair.

“You see, I’m just not sure if I believe that,” he said. “I have tried to roast them a couple of times, but they came out all mushy and evil. So I just gave up. It’s really not worth the bother.” 

“Not worth the-! Q.” James leaned forward in his chair, eyes surprisingly earnest and insistent. “You have to let me cook them for you! If you get them right, they’re the perfect combination of sweet and savoury. They’re nutty and crisp and- What are you doing tomorrow?”

Q didn’t smile victoriously. He shrugged his shoulders again instead. 

“Laundry? Then a whole lot of nothing.”

“That’s it. I’m coming over and making them for you.”

The phone rang then--M requesting a second opinion on an ongoing mission--and so Q wrote _11?_ on a scrap of paper and when James nodded in agreement, it was decided.

* * *

By the time eleven o’clock rolled around the next morning, Q had taken care of all the laundry and, having also picked up the debris he and the cats had scattered on various surfaces, he was ready to open his flat to the stink of Brussels sprouts in exchange for getting to give James an unofficial Christmas present in the form of a cuddle with his clingy cats. 

He just hoped they liked James. Q had no back-up plan in place in case they didn’t. The alternative that _he_ could be the one to press up against James, run one hand up and down his back while he buried the other in his hair, was simply ludicrous. So was the idea that he could kiss James, feel him groan into his mouth... Well, ludicrous and painful and dangerous to imagine, when Q was certain it wouldn’t be welcome. So he didn’t.

But Q needn’t have worried, Graham and Cracker glued themselves to James’s side the moment Q let him in the door. They pursued him all the way to the kitchen, weaving in and out between his legs and making Q’s attempts at introduction extremely difficult. 

“Er,” he cleared his throat. “The one with the map of Australia on his back is Graham, and... Cracker just tried to trip you up.”

James laid his tote bags on the counter before getting on his knees in Q’s kitchen. “And here I was thinking it was Graham I would have to guard the steaks from.” 

“Steaks?” It was then that Q noticed that the bags James had brought with him were much too full to contain only Brussels sprouts and whatever condiments James had planned to spruce them up with.

James furrowed his brow at him from where he was petting the cats. 

“Well, I could hardly be expected to convert you to Brussels sprouts without a proper lunch to go with them, could I?”

Graham began purring, as he rubbed himself against James’s fingers. Cracker squeezed himself in between his brother and the kitchen cabinets, meeping quietly for attention.

“Well, aren’t you both just gorgeous,” James murmured at them. His voice held the slightest tint of wonder at this easy affection that was shown to him. Q felt it like a vice around his stomach. “I do have two hands, you know.” 

Q stared. He had- This hadn- This was-

“You’re making me lunch?” he asked to keep his mouth from blurting out anything else.

James looked up from the cats, face lit up with a wide, teasing smile.

“I was hoping you would help out with the potatoes, but yes, I am.” 

Q drew in a shuddering breath. 

James wasn’t wearing his reading glasses, or a suit, there was no cream to teasingly kiss from his lips, and he was getting to his feet, taking two marinating steaks out of a bag and putting them on top of the fridge at Q’s distracted gesture. He was rolling up his sleeves, having somehow instinctively found the drawer where Q kept his corkscrew, bottle opener, large knives and peelers. 

He was fucking beautiful and Q felt desire flood him like the breaking of a dam.

What if it wouldn’t mean messing it up? 

James had come to _cook him lunch_. 

What if Q could allow himself to want to comfort James and to want to press him against the sink and kiss him, to suck on his lower lip, to run his lips along his jawline, to feel his cock harden in his hand, to tease him and make him moan. What if Q could allow himself to want 

“James,” he finished the thought in a quiet breath that, nevertheless, must have been loud enough to make James look up at him from unpacking the potatoes. 

“Yes? Are you-” Q had no idea what his face looked like to make James pause, tilt his head and _beam._

Q swallowed, and tried to find some words to say. His mind was blank. No words were coming except for: “ _Bad cat! Get off the counter, Cracker!”_ and those weren’t the ones he needed.

“James,” he said again and stopped, floundering. 

“I’m here.” James’s voice wrapped around him like a warm blanket. “I’m here.” 

And he was, wasn’t he. 

He’d come to cook Q lunch. 

Moving closer was suddenly the easiest thing in the world, the only thing in the world. 

Because now, Q was pretty sure he could allow himself to want 

“James,” Q said, running his fingers down one clean-shaved cheek, letting his eyes drink their fill of James’s deep pools of rare sulphuric magma. James’s hands went to Q’s waist, not pulling or pushing, he just ran his thumbs up down in light, maddening circles, still smiling.

Slowly pressing James up against the counter, Q kissed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 😁😁😁
> 
> Share your thoughts, gentle readers. I'm curious to see if I've pulled this off. 
> 
> (Next chapter on Wednesday.)


	3. The Return of the Kink

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now hold on to your hats, here come the E-rated bits.

Fuck, it was good. Hot and wet and _good._

A needy moan wrenched itself from Q’s throat as he felt James open his mouth beneath his. He wanted to say: “Finally,” and “Oh fuck, do that again,” and also “I want to taste you everywhere,” but that would have meant he’d have to stop kissing James and he didn’t want to stop kissing James.

James’s hands were tracing a searing path from Q’s sides to his shoulders before resting on his lower back and dragging him closer, when Q ran his tongue lightly along his lower lip and flicked it inside. He groaned at the taste and then suddenly, James’s fingers were digging into his hair, sliding off his glasses, tilting his head, and Q was _hard_ , aching with it. He melted against James’s mouth, scrabbling for a hold on his shoulders when James began to trail kisses along his jawline.

Q shivered when James got to his ear and ran one callused fingertip along the shell. He let out an undignified squeak when James hit a ticklish spot Q hadn’t even known about. 

The low vibrations of James’s chuckle travelled from Q’s ear to the tips of his toes and raised goosebumps in their wake, so did the quiet: “Q,” James whispered before pressing a kiss against his neck, and letting out a slow, shuddering breath.

Resting his forehead against James’s, Q breathed out: “Fucking hell, we’re good at this,” and felt James shake against him with silent laughter.

“We really are,” he agreed, playing with the hair on the nape of Q’s neck. His low chuckle went straight to Q’s cock when he added: “And just think what we can do when we get more practice.” 

Now, Q just had to kiss him again. His mind whispered a pleased _Oh, there you are!_ as he felt James’s lips against his, so new and already _familiar_ ; it made his breath hitch. 

He ran his hands up James’s chest, enjoying how the smooth cotton of his shirt hugged the expanse of warm, hard muscle and caressed his palms. Then he pulled away, just far enough to be able to see into James’s eyes. They were dark, blue, pupils blown and shining with affection. 

Q really needed him to know he was serious. 

“James,” he began, only to be interrupted by James setting his hands back on his waist and resuming his gentle stroking. Q swallowed drily and tried again:

“James, you need to know I didn’t invite you here for a- a ‘booty call’ or anything like that.”

Eyes widened dramatically, James smirked. “You didn’t? And here I was thinking you talking about Brussels sprouts as ‘fartballs’ was an incredibly clever seduction.”

OH!

Oh, it was _on_! If James wanted seduction, seduction he would get.

Q pressed himself closer, bending his head to whisper directly into James’s ear: “Now, even though I didn’t plan it, I would very much like to have you naked. And in my bed.”

James’s smirk grew smug as he huffed out a laugh. “Well, I see nothing wrong with that plan. We just need to put the steaks in the fridge.”

He stroked his hand down Q’s back and ran his fingers oh-so-innocently underneath his waistband, making Q shiver and lean into the touch.

He swallowed before opening his mouth again, but his voice still came out low and raspy:

“I think you’re not getting my meaning, James. When I say I want you naked in my bed, what I really mean is that I want that expensive shirt of yours incinerated, and I might just rip off your trousers.” Q paused to draw in a breath. James was rock hard against his hip and all the air seemed to have disappeared from the room. “You see, I’d really like to get my mouth on your cock and make you come down my throat before you open me up and fuck me. At least twice.”

“Christ, Q!” James groaned and dragged him into a kiss, filthy and hot enough to turn Q’s victorious grin into moan and have him lift his leg to wrap it around James’s waist, needing to get _closer_ , to rub his aching cock against his. 

James’s hand was hot on Q’s thigh as he went to grip it tighter and reached for the other leg- 

“James! What are you-?” Q yelped out.

“Where’s the bloody bedroom?” James growled into Q’s neck, but his next attempt at a passionate kiss was ruined when Q started laughing. 

“But think of the steaks, James!” 

“Fuck the steaks!” he grumbled, finally stopping his attempts to pick Q up and letting his hands rest, hot and heavy, on Q’s arse.

“Hm, I’d much rather you fucked me, you know,” Q teased and then quickly danced away from James’s fingers on his ribs. 

“Oh, you!” But James was laughing, too, as he took his hands away and leaned against the counter to watch Q pad over to the fridge.

His eyes felt like a hot brand on Q’s back, as he stretched up for the plate, opened the fridge door and shut it with the steaks inside, before either of his cats could attempt to poke their nose in.

And then suddenly, when he turned back around, Q was standing in his kitchen, feeling strangely naked without his glasses, hair sticking out in what he imagined were all directions. Cracker was still at the sink, batting at a potato, and Graham had curled his body around James’s empty tote bag and was biting at it viciously. 

And James was there, leaning against the counter opposite, watching Q try to decide what to do with his hands.

Rolled up sleeves of a white shirt, cock still straining against his jeans, he looked like something out of a dream. He had a small smile on his face, but the muscles in his forearms were clenched as he gripped the edge of the counter, as though he thought that Q might be about to change his mind.

Q swallowed against the impulse to go and wrap himself around him again. 

“I could show you the bedroom?” he said instead, holding out his hand. 

A slow smile spread across James’s face, lighting it up as it touched the corners of his eyes. He pushed himself away from the counter, stepped around Graham and then he was taking Q’s hand, turning it upside down- 

“Lead the way,” James said, pressing a kiss into Q’s palm.

Now more than ever, Q intended to make good on his promise of a mind-blowing blow job, but as soon as he pushed James to sit on his bed, he simply had to crawl into his lap and kiss him again. 

He sighed happily at the new angle this afforded him, and then James’s palms were running hot paths on the bare skin of his ribs, his shoulder blades, rucking up his T-shirt. 

“Off?” James suggested.

Q nodded. “Off.” He raised his arms and, meeting James’s eyes, tried not to squirm at the intensity inside, as James slowly reached down and with maddening lightness drew Q’s T-shirt up and over his head. 

He pressed a teasing kiss against Q’s slack lips, letting out a quiet: “Oooof,” when Q pushed him over onto the mattress. 

Q kissed gently all along his smile, then licked deep into James’s mouth, panting when they separated. 

Even in his wildest dreams, Q couldn’t have predicted how James would look stretched out on his bed. The fantasies that he hadn’t allowed himself to admit to having usually featured drawn curtains and the light from his bedside lamp casting shadows everywhere. 

Q’s imagination hadn’t managed to picture how the late morning sun would glitter in James’s eyes, or the way his hair lay awkwardly smooshed against the pillow from where Q’d been running his fingers through it, or even the easy, pleased smile he was giving Q right now, lips kissed red. 

Fuck, he looked gorgeous. Q took his mouth again, revelled again in the newfound familiarity with which it opened under his, savoured the little gasp when he took the time to meet James’s eyes, and then went to suck on his lower lip. 

“Q-” James groaned into the kiss and tightened his hands on Q’s hips. 

James’s _hands_. Warm and large and _James’s_. There was nothing in the world that compared to the feel of James’s skin against his, and Q was suddenly struck with the injustice of the situation. There was so much more of James that he could be touching!

“You need to be more naked.”

James seemed to agree as he helpfully loosened his top two shirt buttons before leaning up to suck Q’s tongue into his mouth. 

Yanking at the fabric at his waistband, Q whined in frustration. If James wasn’t wearing such expensive, well-fitting clothes, he could just tear them off! James shouldn’t wear expensive clothes!

“You shouldn’t... wear clothes!” he growled, trying to work his hand between them, so he could unbutton the most hateful trousers in existence. James’s body shaking with silent laughter didn’t exactly help with his endeavour. 

Fighting his own desperate giggles, Q raised his head and glared at James. “Stop laughing and help me!” 

“I’ll burn them all tomorrow,” James promised, tugging at Q insistently to draw him closer. “Now, come kiss me again.”

Q melted into it; let James caress his mouth with his lips, tease his tongue gently. James surged up with a low growl, when Q made to lean away, and Q had to grab onto his shoulders to keep his balance as he turned them around on the bed. 

His heart squeezed all the air out of his lungs when James, eyes dark, lowered him slowly onto the mattress, before leaning down to take his mouth again. 

“James,” Q gasped as James nipped at his lips, then soothed the bite with his tongue. 

“Hmmm?” He raised his head and quirked an eyebrow. Eyes, lips shining, his cheeks and ears were flushed deep red. 

“James,” Q rasped again, letting out a shuddering breath. He was _beautiful_. “Take your bloody clothes off.”

And then they were both moving, James yanking his shirt and undershirt over his head; Q dragging down his zipper and then his jeans. He sighed at the feel of James’s thighs under his hands, warm and thick with hair that tickled Q’s palms as he slid the trousers down to James’s knees. 

He inhaled sharply and dug his fingers into the fabric at the sight of James’s cock straining against a dark spot on his black boxer briefs. He had to swallow before he could speak.

“OK. Shit. Fuck,” Q babbled with a quick laugh at himself and halted James’s attempt to lower himself down in their previous position with a hand on his stomach. James’s warm, taut stomach with coarse hair starting at his navel and trailing down under the waistband of his boxer briefs. 

“Q?” James breathed out, voice tense with the question.

Q gave him a nudge backwards, tugging at the pants. “Lie down, yeah?” he suggested with a small smile that grew as James hurried to comply.

Q settled himself between his legs and- 

And then he simply had to take a moment and _look_. 

James was resting his elbows, head cocked expectantly, the muscles in his neck pulled tight. His nipples pebbled in the cool air. White scars, thin and thick, criss-crossed his tan skin. Q wanted to put his mouth and tongue on each one, but he stopped himself. He had a plan. 

Running his hands along James’s legs, Q lowered his head to press a kiss where the boxer briefs met his inner thigh. He smiled when he felt the muscle beneath tremble; he moved up to trail his lips along the edge of the waistband.

“Q…” James’s voice came dark and pleading.

Q grinned at him, as he hooked his fingers into the stretchy fabric and began to slide it down. 

“Up,” he breathed out simultaneously with James raising his hips. 

Q’s breath hitched in his throat at the sight of James’s cock. Foreskin slightly rolled back, showing the top of the flushed, glistening head. He licked his lips. Veins, large and delicate, ran intertwined down its length. He longed to lean down and follow the path of the biggest one with his tongue.

So he did. 

He mouthed at the base, nose buried in the hair there, taking in deep breaths of the new smell that was James, his _sweat_ and _soap_ and _cock_. He looked up when he felt James’s hands in his hair. 

“You know, if you pull my hair,” Q said with a small grin, “I won’t mind.” And then he sucked the head of James’s lovely cock into his mouth, pushing the foreskin back with his lips. He tongued at the slit to the sound of James’s groan, holding back a pleased smile when James twitched beneath him. 

Q was all set to start a gentle rhythm of sucking and playing with the soft skin of James’s balls, but then the hands in his hair gripped a few strands and _pulled_ and Q was groaning and opening his mouth, gone. 

He needed to get more of that cock in his mouth; he wanted to feel it harden further on his tongue, have the slit he was caressing so tenderly touch the back of his throat and _choke_ him.

Rutting against the mattress, Q sucked hard on James’s cock with James’s sighs and panting breaths singing in his ears. He cupped his balls in his hand, squeezing gently and then quickly went to clench his hand in the covers when James let out a loud grunt and fucking _tugged_. 

Q pulled off, gasping, breathless with it, breathless at the sight of James, hard and spit-slick, and he might have grinned proudly, but then James was tugging at his hair again, pulling him upwards and-

“Christ, Q,” James moaned before slamming their mouths together. 

Q sobbed into his mouth, trembling. With the taste of James’s cock on his tongue and James’s tongue licking into his mouth, he _got to taste him twice_ , and Q had to grip his cock hard at the base, so he wouldn’t come at the thought.

James pulled away first, eyes shining, panting hard. 

“Darling,” he breathed out, and Q swallowed, nodding nonsensically, before reaching out to pull him in for another kiss. 

James’s hands were like hot brands against Q’s back, and Q both did and didn’t regret telling him about the hair-pulling because James kept one hand tangled in his hair, while he slid the other one down the back of Q’s sweatpants and squeezed. 

Grabbing at James’s shoulders for balance, Q slammed his hips forward with a shout. He could feel James’s cock through the fabric, hard and wet, and then he was scrambling at the waistband, yanking all clothes off his cock--he had no idea what they were still doing there--and pressing close again.

They lay like that for a moment, on their sides, resting their foreheads together as they looked down at their cocks, hard, leaning towards each other. _Kissing_. Q’s cock jumped at the thought and, suddenly, he was giggling.

“Look, they like each other,” he choked out, high and happy, at James’s questioning hum. 

James’s shoulders shook with laughter as he leaned forward to kiss Q and squeeze his arse again. 

“Yeah, I think they’ll get on,” he agreed with a playful growl, and Q, still giggling, was suddenly being pushed onto his back and _kissed_ until his laughter turned into quiet, breathless gasps.

And then James was rolling his hips and Q was panting, bucking, and-

“Lube?”

“First. Drawer.” 

And James was stretching, grunting when Q sucked a bruise into his shoulder as he ran his palms up and down his back, and then he was back and they were kissing again and he was reaching down and-

Q keened into James’s mouth when he felt his hot, slick palm push their cocks together and start pumping. He dug his fingers into James’s shoulders and rolled his hips up, fucking into James’s hand, against his cock. 

He was leaking, _dripping_ onto his hand; the sounds wet and filthy and impossibly loud as they joined their breathy gasps in echoing through the room.

“‘m close, James,” Q panted against his cheek, shaking. Nodding, James turned his head for a kiss, but ended up gasping into his mouth instead when Q grabbed his hips, dragging them down.

James moaned, low and long, and Q couldn’t catch his breath as he felt James’s hot come spurt onto his own cock, and then he was coming, _coming_ , muffling a shout into James’s shoulder and still coming-

One on top of the other, sweat cooling on their bodies, they rested, breathing hard. 

Shivering, Q reached for the blanket at the foot of the bed; James had pulled away to wipe them down with the tissues he must have bumped into while rummaging for the lube.

“Hmmm?” Q hummed, holding out the blanket when James shuffled back. 

Another gust of air made him shiver as James slipped under the covers with him. Q scooted over until he could plaster himself against James’s side. He was sticky with sweat but so warm and Q sighed as he moved closer, leeching his warmth. 

And then they were quiet. Seconds ticked by, measured only by the steady beat of James’s heart, pounding underneath Q’s cheek, lulling him to sleep.

“Q?” James’s voice reverberated through his chest.

“Hmmm?” Q hummed his question again.

“What kind of blanket is this?” James asked, voice thick like honey. Q felt his lips stretch into a tired smile.

“‘S weighted.”

* * *

Q couldn’t have slept long. At least, it hadn’t felt like it when he suddenly awoke to the sensation of James drawing circles on his left shoulder blade with his fingertip. 

“Have I slept long?” he mumbled, eyes still closed, leaning into the touches.

“Half an hour maybe,” James answered, laying his hand flat against Q’s back. 

Q didn’t purr but it was a close thing. Instead he shuffled closer, still on his stomach, and sighed happily when James began to run his hand up and down along his spine. He arched into the touch when James dragged his fingernails lightly across his skin.

“Like a cat.” James huffed out a quiet laugh, and Q could hardly disagree. Especially when he had a point and when he sounded so sweetly awed at his observation.

Q reached out a sleep-heavy hand and made an attempt to return the petting, but his palm met with the meat of James’s left shoulder and all he could manage to do was squeeze it lightly. 

“The boys have been quiet for a long time,” he remarked after a while as the thought occurred to him. Beneath his hand, James stiffened slightly.

“James?” he asked. He could feel him take a deep breath.

“It’s possible,” James began. Something like paper rustled as he shuffled around under the covers. “That I forgot to tell you about the toys stuffed with catnip that I brought with me.”

“Wha-” Q started and then he stopped himself as he remembered Graham’s vicious battle with the bag in the kitchen. He hadn’t been able to wonder then what had the cat so worked up, but the mystery was solved now. 

By now, both Graham and Cracker would be snoring, high as kites, with their furry little faces squished against their new, chewed-up toys.

Q swallowed down his burst of laughter, finally raising himself from his prone position. “You drugged my cats?” 

“I wanted them to like me!” James threw out his hands as he tried to defend himself and again, there was that sound of paper rustling.

And then Q noticed the book that lay open on top of the covers in James’s lap. He raised his eyes. Slowly, so slowly, he dragged them up James’s bare chest along the new stubble on his neck and chin and cheeks up towards his eyes. 

And there they were, the _reading glasses_. 

He fought the mad urge to cover his face with his hands, instead he swallowed hard and tried to get his face to stop doing whatever stupid look it had on.

“What’s wrong?” James furrowed his brows at him, leaning forward. “They’ll be fine, right? It’s just-”

Q groaned, slapping his hands against his face, covering his eyes. 

“You’re wearing the _glasses,_ ” Q muffled his whine against his palms.

“You… don’t like them?” Q snorted at the question, but the strange tone in James’s voice made him look up.

“Oh, I _like_ them,” he said, thinking back to all the times James had decided to whip them out without any regard for Q’s blood pressure or professional reputation. “That’s the problem. I like them a lot.” 

The grin on James’s face was worth the red splotches Q was sure were now making an appearance on his cheeks.

“Oh, dear me!” James said, possibly trying for shocked and outraged, but his voice was shaking with laughter. “So _kinky_.” 

Q saw the waggling eyebrows and he did _not_ appreciate them!

“Oh, shush! You always _ambush_ me with them!” he cried out. “And what were you even reading?”

James shrugged, turning over the cover. “Selected Poems by Federico García Lorca, apparently. It was the first on the shelf there and looked nicely worn.” 

Q shot a guilty look at his small bookcase, where he kept stacking new books that he almost never got around to reading. When he looked back, James had put away the poetry (but not his glasses!) and was leaning forward with a grin.

“But, Q, I have to know,” he began, all innocent curiosity. “Tell me more about this attachment you have to my glasses.”

Q huffed, biting back a smile as a sudden, brilliant idea occurred. “You want to know?” 

“I do.”

“You want to know about this dream I had where we were on the couch in my office?”

James nodded, nonchalantly. “Please.” 

“And how it was all quiet and dark, but it was only a lunch break, anyone could come by at any moment?”

“Oh, Quartermaster, I do declare!” James drawled out, grinning. “Now I have to know more.” 

Well, if James really wanted him to talk, Q would _talk_.

“You were naked, nothing on but your glasses,” he paused, eyes flitting to James’s face to gauge his reaction. He would not let him get the better of him. “You were reading García Lorca and your voice rose and fell and quivered on the words, as I stroked and kissed all over your lovely arse cheeks. Then I opened you up with my fingers. Slowly, in time with the poetry and the soft gasps you were making, and then I began to _lick_ _my way inside_ -”

Q was interrupted by James’s mouth on his lips, hot, insistent, glasses digging into his cheekbone. He laughed into the kiss until James pulled away and deliberately straightened his glasses, waiting for him to stop with a raised eyebrow.

Q gasped out, shaking with laughter: “And then your glasses got all fogged up, you were breathing so hard, and you couldn’t read the poetry anymore but you begged me not to stop as I pushed three of my fingers in and _twisted_ -”

Q wasn’t sure what happened to the glasses. He had the vague idea that he heard them rattle against the nightstand, but then James was kissing him again, slow and deep. Q hummed against his lips, incredibly pleased with himself. He slid his fingers into James’s hair, enjoying the little shiver that ran through him when he stroked his thumbs gently behind his ears.

He opened his mouth to speak again when they parted, only for James to cover it with his palm.

“No more talking,” he rumbled, leaning down for another kiss. 

Q turned his head at the last moment, grinning. “What? But you _wanted_ me to tell you!”

“Shush, you minx. Let me kiss you.”

Q let him.

\--THE END--

  
**[Art](https://nana-41175.tumblr.com/post/629416499540557824/this-is-for-the-lovely-christinefromsherwood-and) by [Nana_41175](https://nana-41175.tumblr.com/)**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this is it, guys. Let me know how you enjoyed the story.
> 
> (This is my first proper porn and I absolutely accept concrit in my DMs either on Tumblr or Slack. 😊 )
> 
> Thank you for reading! ❤


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